


In the Heart of the King

by evergreen_melancholy



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Chef!Bastian, Drunken Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Language of Flowers, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mats Hummels/Everyone basically, One-sided Manuel Neuer/Miroslav Klose, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Work In Progress, kingdom au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evergreen_melancholy/pseuds/evergreen_melancholy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Miroslav Klose was the only pacifist in the entire country, and the Rebels in the Outskirts hated him for it. Hoping for chaos, they sent the best assassin the land had ever seen—the young and skilled Sir Thomas Müller, whose mission was to kill the King. Stumbling into an odd kingdom with an even more odd staff like an outrageous chef, mothering servant, and a womanizer for a bartender, can Sir Thomas complete his assignment? Moreover, how will he follow-through with his mission, if the very man he fell in love with was the man he was supposed to murder? </p><p>'Tis a tale of love, tragedy, and everything comical in-between. </p><p>Germany's National Football Team meets a Kingdom AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. of all the people

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tempered_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempered_rose/gifts).



> I don't even know how this happened, oh gosh. One day I just had this idea, and I decided to give it a try. This will mostly be Thomas/Miro, but along the way there will be many other pairings, and more characters as well. I have many scenarios for this. 
> 
> I OWN NOTHING. These boys all have lives of their own, and this is not to insult them in any way.
> 
> I also dedicate this to tempered_rose, because they have inspired me to get down and finally start writing Thomas/Miro. I also dedicate this to my friend, whom I refer to as Panini. 
> 
> Well, I hope you guys enjoy the story! :-)

*

 

_Once upon a time, there was a glorious kingdom, with an even more glorious King to match. The townspeople adored, respected, and simply lived for their king--as did the royal staff that occupied the magnificent structure. The town itself was fairly small, but cozy, for the King had worked hard to keep his kingdom safe from the eyes and ears of his enemies. Citizens knew each other and greeted each other warmly; everyone was like family, and that was how the King wanted every day to be like--he wanted to see his people smile, and he wanted to see his people happy. It was his only wish._

_The King was a quiet and reserved man--he was humble to the point that if someone took a glance at him, they would deem him a commoner, at best. However, his nature was what everyone adored most--he was a man of few words, but he always cared for every person. He looked at every citizen the same way, whether he or she was from the kingdom or not, it didn't matter. The King was a gentle soul, and spared everyone._

_It was this quirk of his, however, that eventually led to his downfall._

_He never saw it coming._

 *

 

The morning was bright, and the sun began to shine gently through the curtains. The man stirred from his bed, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He gave a quiet yawn—the day was beginning, and he had many things to do. As much as he wanted to stay up, he could not, because out there—in town—there are people who need him, people who depend on him. As their leader, he could not allow failure in any form. He existed only for the people.

 

The man slowly rose, and shuffled sleepily to his closet—he opened the door, eyes scanning through outfits and colors. He sighed—things were hard these days. It was hard to just carry on with his duties as he'd always have—he was older now, more jaded from emotions and life. Every four years meant a re-election, and everyone would only accept him as king. But, despite this obvious fact, the man still felt questions swarming through his mind. Did the people still look up to him? Did he still have authority? Was he still fit to be 'King'?

 

"It's all in the heart of the King," he whispered quietly to himself.

 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

 

"What's all in your heart now?"

 

The King whipped his head around, and winced as he felt an awkward twist. The man at the door gave a soft chuckle, and entered the bedroom.

 

_Enter Manuel Neuer, loyal servant of the King and Royal Counselor of the Kingdom. A caring and patient man, Manuel Neuer cares and tends to the needs of the King daily--only when the King allows him to. Manuel keeps the kingdom running smoothly, and prevents the castles inhabitants from lapsing into insanity. He's a good-natured fellow, one who holds unending loyalty to his friends. He wields his knowledge only when needed, but wields fists when he senses even the slightest danger toward the King, or anyone else in the vicinity. Truly and sincerely a "Man of the People", Manuel stands as a person who seeks fairness and honesty above everything else. Although he seemingly fails at nothing, perhaps his greatest downfall resides in his emotions_ _—_ _the royal gossip spreads faster than wildfires. Manuel Neuer, loyal servant of the King, Royal Counselor of the Kingdom_ _—_ _a man hopelessly in-love with the King._

 

"Good morning, King Miroslav Klose! How are you this fine morning?"

 

"Friend, you know there is no need for formalities," Miroslav said in a tired voice. The other man gave another chuckle.

 

"Humble as always, I see. You're in good health?"

 

Miroslav nodded. "Manuel, you always ask me that. You've only been gone for five days, surely I'm not old enough to die in such a short amount of time! Give me some more credit!"

 

The King smiled widely at his friend—Manuel Neuer, his loyal assistant, and the Royal Counselor. The tall, young man was the sanity behind the awkwardness of every other person in the castle, and Miroslav was eternally grateful for that.

 

"Well, Miro, you did just twist your neck when I came in," Manuel said gently, eyes crinkling along with his smile. His hand moved to the back of Miroslav's neck, and massaged the area slowly. Miroslav gave a contented sigh.

 

"I'm less than a decade older than you, don't be arrogant now," Miroslav said, wrinkles blossoming across his forehead. Manuel simply made a face at the King’s feigned annoyance, and then settled his eyes onto Miroslav’s.

 

"And I'll be here every minute of your life, Miro," Manuel said, eyes piercing into Miroslav's with a serious gaze. "Until I die, I'm yours."

 

_I_ _’_ _m yours, Miro._

The thought suddenly flashed through his mind, and Miroslav suddenly felt a flash of pain in his heart. The voice that said the same sentence in his mind was a voice that would always haunt him, no matter where he went. Miroslav knew who the voice belonged to, and as much as he would love to forget, he cannot bring himself to.

 

“Sorry,” Manuel suddenly cuts in, the man feeling a little embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

“It’s quite alright,” Miroslav said. His thoughts kept swimming back to happier times.

 

“She said the same thing, right? That’s why…” Manuel trailed off, eyes still focused intensely on Miroslav.

 

Miroslav flushed a little underneath his friend's gaze, and realized that Manuel’s hands were still on his neck. He quickly shooed them away, embarrassed and feeling flustered.

 

“Yes, Sylwia said the same,” Miroslav began. And Manuel instantly felt ashamed for mirroring the deceased Queen’s words. “But let’s not linger on that particular subject.”

 

“As you wish, Sir,” Manuel said, stepping closer to the older man, but stopping when he saw the photograph on his desk. It was when Miroslav was younger, when less wrinkles occupied his face. The woman next to him—Sylwia—smiled happily, holding twin boys in her arms.

 

"You're a little too loyal for me, I feel guilty." Miroslav took a step back, patted Manuel's shoulder, which broke him out of his trance. Miroslav stretched, and proceeded to continue in picking out his outfit for the day.

 

"It's the truth, nothin' but the truth," Manuel said, but the King wasn't paying attention anymore. Instead, he was changing, lost in worries about his kingdom.

 

Manuel watched the older man out of the corner of his eye, keeping his gaze on Miroslav's toned back. When his eyes dipped lower, he turned away and cursed mentally at the waves of guilt washing over him.

 

*

 

"Basti!"

 

No reply.

 

"Bastiiiiiii!"                                                                                                        

 

Still no reply.

 

"BASTIIII--"

 

"Jesus fucking christ, Poldi, will you shut your mouth for one minute? Basti's out shopping for groceries, he'll be back soon! Your stomach can wait along like the rest of ours!"

 

"But I'm hungry," the man pouted, but sat down with a huff anyway. The other man simply rolled his eyes and gave a loud yawn.

 

_Enter Lukas Podolski, Royal "Pain in the Ass". The designated bartender of the castle, Lukas is constantly intoxicated, or under some sort of influence. No one knows whether he's sober or not, for they have long forgotten what Lukas was like in all of his lukewarm sobriety. Lukas' main purpose is to comfort the rest of the castle in their times of depression--with a shot glass, and amber colored liquid, Lukas is the God of everyone. Lukas laughs, Lukas smiles, Lukas can have any female in the entire kingdom if he chooses, but Lukas prefers great cooking above all other characteristics._

_"_ Good morning, Lukas," a voice suddenly rings from behind him, and Lukas looks up while a smile blossoms across his face.

 

_Enter Bastian Schweinsteiger, the Royal Chef. The most famed chef in the entire country, Bastian values food and proper dining etiquette to a point of obsession. Cooking defines his life, and he lives to please the taste buds of the castle's inhabitants. To wake up to Bastian's breakfast is an amazing feeling in the world--and he holds himself in high regard. Every woman chases after Bastian, not for his looks(perhaps partially so), but for his culinary skill. They would enjoy a life filled with delicacies; a life filled with a loving husband. Bastian holds three set of skills; stealth, pride, and mischief. As strict as he is in the kitchen, he holds the record for the greatest numbers of pranks pulled in the castle. With his looks, Bastian could very well be as charming as Lukas--but instead, the Royal Chef is constantly being courted by the Royal Womanizer himself. Oh, what great cooking can do..._

 

"Basti, you're back, how I've missed you so!"

 

Lukas launched himself from his seat and latched his arms around Bastian's waist, face snuggling into broad shoulders. Bastian gave him an exasperated sideways glance, and kept walking forward, not bothering to free himself. Others looked on; this sort of thing was normal from Lukas.

 

"Pardon the lateness, Lukas," the chef said. "I was out grocery shopping. I didn't know you'd be hungry _as so."_ Bastian grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges to form a warm smile. His hazel eyes had a little bit more green in them than usual, and the chef shifted his gaze and greeted everyone else in the room warmly. When he finished, he looked at Lukas again, an eyebrow quirking, and Lukas stared, suddenly flustered. He quickly let go of Bastian. He slowly returned to his seat, and when the man in front of him rolled his eyes, Lukas made a face.

 

_Enter Mario G_ _ö_ _tze, the youngest aspiring knight in the kingdom. Mario is the youngest knight-in-training, and values honesty, fairness, and integrity. He holds immense skill, and often brings the kingdom to victory in many, many close battles. Although he is young, he possesses great strength and intelligence--but also a face that wants to be endeared by women all across the entire land. Mario is inexperienced, naive, and gullible, but with the guidance of others, the King expects him to be the best he will be. However, many other kingdoms also have their eyes on such a fresh specimen--the King orders him to be protected at all times, as he fears that other kingdoms will bribe him away by taking advantage of a young man's greed._

"Still hungry?" Mario said to Lukas, quirking a knowing eyebrow. "You’re so obvious, Poldi. I saw you get all embarrassed just now."

 

"Shut up, man," Lukas said, eyes following Bastian's retreating figure. "I just like good cooking, that's all."

 

"Oh, sure,” Mario said, and his foot kicked Lukas’ underneath the table. “You said 'Bastian' wrong."

 

Lukas stared at Bastian until his figure disappeared into the kitchen, and then stared harder at the man in front of him.

 

When Bastian came out again in an apron, Lukas’ cheeks colored, and Mario gave him a shit-eating grin.

 

*

 

"Sir Thomas," the leader roared above the crowd. The hooded figure next to him nodded and pointed to a knight that stood and began walking forward.

 

"Present!"

 

_Enter Sir Thomas M_ _ü_ _ller, the greatest knight in the outskirts of the country. Thomas is highly regarded for his speed, accuracy, and efficiency. He completes tasks with a cold and cruel precision, and leaves the impossible to become the possible. The outskirts of the country--a dangerous and wicked place--relies on Thomas to gather information on neighboring kingdoms, and uses Thomas to rid those kingdoms of their rulers. The King of Real Madrid had already been murdered by Thomas, and so had been the King of Dortmund. It was Thomas' fault that so many citizens had fled to Klose's Kingdom. Although Thomas was known for his bloodthirsty motivations, he was humorous and respectful. This lead him to be the most disarming Knight--he would laugh and you would laugh, but soon you would be choking on your blood while Thomas laughed along._

 

"We come with a proposition for you, Sir Thomas," the leader said. "If you wish to speak about it, come with us to our private chambers."

 

"I will not talk of privacy," the knight said, voice heavy with pride. "In our country, we talk in front of all the people."

 

"Very well then," the hooded figure said. "I have a task for you, Sir Thomas the _Great_."

 

"And what might that task be?"

 

The hooded figure smiled, and Thomas only saw a row of jagged teeth.

 

"I want you to travel to Miroslav Klose's kingdom, and enlist into his army."

 

Thomas stared, and began to laugh. The men in front of him stood unmoving.

 

"That's a simple task! Surely you have something more for me to do? Enlisting under an old man is child's play!"

 

"And after you've befriended him, _kill him_ ," the hooded figure whispered. At this, Thomas froze. He’d heard of Miroslav Klose and that he was a pacifist, and that all the Rebels wanted him dead, but he never thought that he would be taking on a mission to kill the King himself. The man in front of him suddenly pressed a vial of golden liquid into his hand.

 

"Of course, we will not ask you to do this without an incentive. This here is liquid gold, and I expect this to be replaced with the King's blood in three months."

 

Before Thomas could open his mouth, the two figures had stepped back, and raised their arms. They muttered words he did not recognize, and with a flash, they were gone.

 

Thomas stared at the bottle in his hand. The gold caught the sunlight and glimmered prettily. Thomas closed his hand around the vial and grinned at the sky.

 

Kill an old man? No problem. He could do this.

 

Sir Thomas set out to travel the next day ( _but little did he know that his task would take just a little more than three months to complete..._ )


	2. he's something, alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New characters are introduced, and Thomas falls in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH. I really hope you guys enjoy this story, haha. I plan to include more characters soon!

*

"So, when did you recruit that new knight with a great ass?"

 

Marco looked up from his desk, and rolled his eyes at his friend standing in the doorway.

 

"Good morning, Mats," the shorter man said, eyes going back down to finish scanning some reports. "I see you've run into the newbies. Which, may I remind you, are quite young--"

 

"Oh _please,"_ the man at the doorway said. He gave a quiet scoff and stuck a hand through his hair. "They're _adorable._ Especially the new one—the young one, kinda short. His _ass."_

 

"I'd appreciate it if you would keep away from my young, aspiring soldiers, Mats," Marco said, mouth crooking upwards into a smile. "They're ambitious and they have dreams."

 

"I'm ambitious, and so are you, and we both have dreams! I have them in _bed_ , of course," said the other, and he turned to wink at a passing maid, who blushed and giggled. "I have them in my big, soft, _amazing_ bed."

 

And Mats said that all while looking at the maid, who had stopped in her tracks to look back at him—he turned his head upwards and smirked at her and she winked at him this time, eyes teasing as she disappeared around the corner of the hall.

 

The man sitting at the desk simply sighed.

 

_Enter Marco Reus, Royal Captain of the Kingdom Knights. Marco, dubbed as the "Knightmare", is known for his merciless speed on the battlefield. He spares none, and sees every opening on the field. His skill and precision has brought him to the position of Captain of the Kingdom Knights, and while the army rests, Marco teaches the new recruits the true way of swordsmanship. Everyone respects Marco--he is a mysterious, hard-to-read man, and he shows himself to no one--but those who take the time to understand him see how broken and afraid the man is of the world. People often place him on a pedestal and forget that he too, is a human; all too vulnerable in this world. Marco currently has his eyes on a certain young aspiring knight..._

"Oh _come on,_ Reus, please," the other man scoffed. "I was wondering why you were taking everything so seriously lately. Seems to _me_ you've got your eyes on some young ass."

 

"Mats," Marco warned. "I'm their mentor. They all look up to me. I cannot just--"

 

"Oh, yes you can," the other man said, and a dangerous grin bloomed upon his face. "You totally can! They all look up to you—they fucking _adore_ you."

 

"That goes against all of the King's wishes," Marco says simply, and Mats rolls his eyes.

 

"Ah, _fuck_ the King. Well, both figuratively and literally, ‘cause Grandpa's kinda old, but he's got a nice set of legs--"

 

" _Mats."_

 

"Alright, alright, you won't do your students, yeah, yeah, _I get it_ ," he says, and laughs at Marco's frustrated expression. "Well, if you won't, I will. I haven't had some in a few days..."

 

_Enter Mats Hummels, Royal Seducer. Techincally, Mats is the Royal Messenger, but in addition to spreading messages, his job also includes sleeping in the beds of every attractive person in the Kingdom, regardless of gender. Lukas Podolski is the Royal Womanizer; Mats is his teacher. Despite his carefree lifestyle, Mats is the 'backbone' of the kingdom--he sends reminders, and does so with great vigor and passion. He takes his position very seriously; travels from person to person (and bed to bed) with message in mind or hand, and keeps citizens updated on daily news. A reliable and loyal man, Mats swore to stay in the kingdom no matter what situation. In his mind, the women are beautiful and the men handsome--he delivers a message, wins a night of passion. To him, it's a win-win situation, in or outside the castle._

Marco watched Mats hurry after the maid. He had no doubt that she would probably be abandoning the rest of her duties for the day, and Mats as well.

 

He sighed, and stood up from his desk.

 

He was just about to change, when another knock interrupted his thoughts—was it Mats again?

 

“H-hey, Sir Marco,” a familiar voice called. Marco turned, found himself face to face with a certain new recruit that they were just talking about earlier. The one with the ‘nice ass’, as Mats had put it.

 

“Good morning, Mario,” Marco said warmly, smiling down at the young soldier, who returned his smile with an even bigger one. “What brings you to my quarters so early?”

 

Mario looked down, cheeks coloring slightly. Marco simply waited for his response.

 

“I was, uh, wondering, if you wanted to,” the young man started. Marco raised an eyebrow. “I was wondering if you wanted to come along with me to breakfast, Sir Marco!”

 

Marco blinked at the younger one in front of him for a moment, before letting himself smile widely.

 

“Not today, Mario,” he began, but stopped when he saw the dejected look in Mario’s eyes. “Won’t you keep an eye on Lukas for the King? I have reports to file, you see.” He gestured to his desk, where a pile of papers lay.

 

“I will watch him with my life, sir,” Mario said, and he saluted Marco, and turned to leave. Before he was out of an arm’s reach, Marco couldn’t stop himself—he reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair, watching with amusement as Mario turned the color of Bastian’s tomato sauce.

 

As Mario turned around the corner, Marco’s eyes wandered lower, and he had to agree with Mats.

 

Mario _really_ did have a nice ass.

 

*

 

Thomas was without a doubt one of the best knights that the land had ever seen. He was also without a doubt one of the finest horsemen, finest navigator that anyone had ever seen.

 

So of course, it goes without saying that such a simple task was child's play for Thomas, correct? Not so, it was not so.

 

You see, despite his skill, it goes without saying that Thomas was also the biggest klutz, especially in dire situations that tested his own ability to remain safe. Take the situation at hand at the moment--he's fallen upon his ass, he's scraped himself up, and his horse was nowhere to be found.

 

"Shit!" he curses, and winces as he feels the pain shoot up in his legs and head. He doesn't even remember how it happened--his horse had thrown him off and trampled over him, and then run off while he writhed in pain on the dirt road. Thomas sighed, and looked up. The day was still young, the weather scorching, and he was still at least twenty minutes away from his destination. He couldn't understand why his horse would've done that; his trusted steed was his everything.

 

Sighing, Thomas gradually got to his feet, and started a painful trek to the kingdom he needed to infiltrate. He was about two minutes in when the pain set in his right ankle; he didn't think he could continue any longer. His brow was wet and so he brought a hand up to wipe--and found blood instead.

 

"Godammit," Thomas cursed. He slumped against the nearest tree, and closed his eyes, and let his mind wander.

 

What type of place was Miroslav Klose's Kingdom like anyway? Hell, what did he even _look_ like? What was he even _like?_ Thomas had heard of rumors and stories from all over about the man--he was a great king, great warrior, but a great threat to everyone else. He apparently was some pacifist and didn't want the kingdoms to fight one another for power, which caused the outskirts to despise him, since they wanted chaos. That's all Thomas knew. No other information could be given about his person and preferences--the man was a complete mystery to Thomas, but he simply smirked to himself. He liked a challenge; he'd take this assassination seriously and enjoy it.

 

Suddenly, there was the sound of hooves hitting the ground--Thomas could hear them. He sat up, alert and ready, and cursed again when the pain in his head grew worse. The blood was running a river down his face and began to drip onto his tunic; this wasn't good. Thomas bit his lip as he thought about strategies and pitiful words to say. If he couldn't fight a surprise encounter, he would have to make them sympathize with him.

 

A loud and familiar whine of a horse jolted him out of his thoughts; he recognized that sound anywhere--it was a Royal horse, and judging by the sound, the horse was close by. He mentally cursed--it probably was a guard, waiting to kill trespassers that tried to infiltrate the kingdom. As Thomas looked around him frantically, he suddenly heard the sound of hooves all around him, and looked up in panic. The sun blinded him, but all he saw was a tall, majestic white horse with a figure upon it. Thomas squinted, but the sun was too strong--and then he began to panic; was this the end of him? Was he going to die? Was he going to be kidnapped and then sold and--

 

Suddenly, the figure jumped off the horse gracefully, and was in front of Thomas in three long strides. The sun was still in his eyes, but Thomas made out a tall, but lean figure, with sinewy muscle. A smooth arm appeared in front of him, and a hand was thrust into his face.

 

"You look like you're in some trouble," the man said simply.

 

Thomas flushed and took the hand, and was surprised at how small it actually was in comparison to his--the hand was soft, but Thomas felt calluses that signaled years of sword-wielding. He didn't really know why he felt so embarrassed, but for some reason, he couldn't stop the blood creeping up his neck. He trembled as the man dragged him up, and bowed his head to avoid the bright sun. When he finally got to his feet, he raised his head, mouth open and ready to thank his savior--

 

_Woah._

 

The first thing Thomas sees when he looks up are a pair of eyes--a pair of wide, deep, gentle eyes, and _god damn, they were so--_

_"Blue,"_ Thomas whispers, and flushes when he realizes that he had spoken.

 

"Come again?" The man says, one eyebrow quirking. With his other hand, he steadied Thomas' back, and tightened his grip as he made sure Thomas was standing on his own.

 

"Oh, uh, blue, um," Thomas fumbles, unsure of what to say. "The wind, uh, blew me off my horse!"

 

The man in front of him blinks, and then his mouth opens and he laughs, eyes crinkling, and laugh rolling over Thomas' ears like an ocean, a deep, blue ocean like his eyes, and the sound is heavenly and--

 

"Are you alright?" The man asks, and his voice carries a genuine worry that makes Thomas want to hide forever. He only nods quickly, and he shifts and flushes, because he can't stop looking at the man in front of him. Everything about him was _perfect._

 

"Are you on the way to the kingdom?"

 

"Me? Oh, yes, I am," Thomas says quickly. Hell, even his _voice_ was perfect--smooth, hollow, gentle. "My horse ran off earlier, though, and I'm not sure how to get there in this condition..."

 

Thomas trails off, and he really hopes that this man will offer him a horseback ride, because that would make him really happy, and--

 

"Well, I'm about to return to town right now, and if you're thinking of staying by yourself like that..." the man starts, and Thomas looks up. He guesses that he must look really surprised, because the man chuckles.

 

"Are you sure?" Thomas asks, and he feels hot under his collar. God, when did he have a thing for older men?!

 

"I cannot abandon someone who is bleeding, even if they are foreign," the man says simply, and he walks forward and steps close to Thomas. He feels a little silly, because there's butterflies in his stomach as the man closes warm fingers around his wrist, and Thomas lets himself be lead to the horse. When the man gets on the horse, he helps Thomas up, and Thomas can't help but feel like a woman who's just been saved by a prince.

 

"Let's clean you up first," the man says gently, and presses his snow-white shirt sleeve to Thomas' bleeding temple.

 

"You'll get dirty!" Thomas protests, but he shuts his mouth when the man rips off his sleeve and ties the cloth around Thomas' head.

 

"Are you ready to go?" The man asks, and Thomas' only reply is to wind his arms around the man's waist. They take off in a steady gallop, and Thomas barely feels like he's on a horse. He watches the scenery pass, and gently presses his head against the man's back.

 

"What's your name?" The man asks, throwing a glance behind him.

 

"Thomas," he mutters, and closes his eyes.

 

"What a great name," the man says, and looks behind him to smile at Thomas.

 

And Thomas isn't sure how it happened, but all he knows is that despite everything, and the situation at hand, he fell in love, just like that.

 

*

 


	3. a little blood to spare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manuel meets Thomas, and, needless to say, he doesn't like the kid much. 
> 
> It's only natural that Thomas didn't like him much either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, I don't even know how I wrote another chapter, gosh these boys are just too much for me. I'm so done with writing their kingdom parts, but I love them so much. Everything's so addicting! Thanks for all the kudos and lovely comments, I love you all!
> 
> Enjoy the new chapter! <3

*

Mario eyed the amazing feast laid out in front of him: eggs benedict, french toast, assorted biscuits, crepes, omelets, bacon...

 

"Oh my god," Lukas groaned next to him suddenly. "This biscuit is _amazing."_

Mario tore his gaze from the food, and looked at Lukas. The man was shoveling food into his mouth at an inhuman speed, and when he choked, Mario rolled his eyes and handed him his glass of milk. Lukas downed it in a long swig, and sighed, satisfied.

 

"You eat like a horse," Mario observed.

 

"You eat like a...something," Lukas said lamely, hand reaching for another biscuit. "Seriously though, kid, eat something before the food's all gone."

 

Mario looks around him—various others are currently fighting each other for a bite of the delicious breakfast; Philipp's batting André's hands away from his toast, Manuel's trying to consume as much bacon as he can while simultaneously piling bacon up on the King's plate at the same time. Strangely enough, the King was the only one who wasn't eating. As Mario looked over at the man, he noticed that the room was suddenly silent. Everyone had noticed that the King was not in his usual spirits.

 

Manuel looks up, pieces of breakfast hanging near his mouth, and frowns at the stares around the room. He quickly gestures to the breakfast, and frowns when Miroslav shakes his head. He frowns even more, and points to a basket of fruit, but Miroslav once again refuses to eat.

 

"Miro, you have to eat, dammit," Manuel said between mouthfuls of toast and bacon.

 

"I'm fine, my friend," the older man said tiredly. "I just do not feel the need to eat at the moment. There's nothing wrong with me."

 

Manuel stared hard at him, and sighed. Oh, well. He looked around him and saw that no one was touching their food anymore.

 

 _He may not have a problem, but the thing is, if Miro doesn't feel right, no one does either,_ Manuel thought, with a depressed look on his face. This wasn't good. He didn't need the entire castle worrying right now, not in the time of war. In desperate situations like these, everyone relied on the King, and right now, he was not in a good state. Manuel began to grow worried, and he was thinking of trying one more time to convince Miroslav to eat something. However, before he could even move, suddenly, the kitchen door flew open, and Bastian flew out in a hurry.

 

"Miro! King, King, what's wrong, King?" The chef kneeled in front of Miroslav and took his hands and looked into his eyes. Bastian's biggest hobby was watching people eat his food—he did this at a distance, and relished in the happy faces that he saw. However, he noticed that the King was not eating, and this bothered him greatly.

 

"Hmm? Oh, good morning, Bastian," Miroslav said, suddenly jolted out of his thoughts. "This is a wonderful breakfast you've prepared for everyone. It's a shame I don't feel like eating any. I do apologize."

 

Bastian frowned, more out of worry than anger.

 

"No, no, Miro, you _must_ eat," Bastian pleaded. "You have to eat! You are the King, Miro! As your chef, I cannot allow you to carry on with your duties without eating!" He grabbed a biscuit and shoved it in Miroslav's face, determined to get some food into the man.

 

Miroslav sighed, and gave in, taking the biscuit in his hand and nibbling on its side. Satisfied, Bastian got to his feet, and nodded to Manuel, who saluted him. Bastian laughed and walked to other tables, eyeing the amount of food consumed, and who was consuming them. As he passed Lukas' table, he saw that Mario had not touched his food yet, and he stopped smiling.

 

"Lukas, why is your friend not eating?" Bastian asked, and Lukas looked up and smiled dreamily.

 

"Basti! Oh, you amazing human! Once again this is delicious, so delicious," Lukas cried through a mouthful of eggs. Bastian gave the man a small smile, and turned to Mario, who was eyeing Lukas' plate intensely.

 

"You're new here," Bastian said, and Mario jumped in his seat.

 

"Ah, yes, I am," Mario said quickly, becoming flustered. "I was supposed to accompany Sir Marco today, but he is busy, so..."

 

He trailed off, coloring slightly at the cheeks. Bastian observed him with slight amusement.

 

"Well, even if he isn't here, you must still eat," Bastian said, and beckoned Mario to follow him. "Come, I will bring you a plate, and you will eat it."

 

Mario looked up, and protested, but Bastian shushed him with a careless wave of his hand.

 

"No excuses, okay?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Bastian smiled, and told a nearby servant to bring Mario a plate of _everything_. He watched Mario take a careful bite, and then his eyes widened, and soon, he began shoveling everything into his mouth like his life depended on it.

 

"After you finish, do take a plate to Sir Marco, yes?" Bastian asked, smiling knowingly. Mario blushed, and nodded.

 

The chef turned and found Lukas' gaze on him. He smiled, and so did Bastian, for he knew what those eyes meant.

 

_Come to the bar later._

Of course Bastian would go to the bar later—he needed a little whiskey in order to prepare dinner. That, and some fun, too. He winked at Lukas, and Lukas knew what those eyes meant, as well.

 

_Of course._

_*_

Manuel was pacing around his room.

 

 _This is not good at all,_ he thought. From the lack of appetite, to the growing signs of depression--nothing good was coming from the behaviors of Miroslav. He frowned as he recalled what had happened about an hour earlier; Miroslav had finally given in to eating a biscuit, but soon after, he had retreated back to his quarters. When Manuel found him later, he was out in the stables, dressed in regular clothing--and mounting a horse.

_"Good lord, Miro, what are you doing?!" He had shouted to the older man, who seemed dazed and tired. He was in no condition to be riding a horse today!_

_"I was thinking that I needed some time to relax," the King said softly. "It's been a while since I've gone out."_

_And Manuel sighs, because it's true_ _—_ _Miroslav was always in a better mood after he had returned from a small lap around the kingdom. Still, he was worried for the older man_ _—_ _nowadays, the Rebels were increasing, and who's to say that they weren't planning to murder Miroslav? Right now, no matter what, the safety of the King was top priority, and every single person in the kingdom knew that they had to protect their leader._

_It was just really shitty, because Miroslav was too humble and stubborn at the same time to accept help. He'd rather offer it, to complete strangers at times, with no worry at all for his own health_ _—_ _this is what worried Manuel. Miroslav had a big heart; one too vulnerable and easily targeted. He hoped that nothing bad would happen to him._

_"Fine then, Miro," Manuel sighed. "But be careful, okay? I'll meet you in Philipp's after you're finished."_

_"Yes, that sounds alright," Miroslav said. "I'll be off now_ _—_ _rest a bit, friend!"_

_And with that, Miroslav had sped away into the forest trail, still steady and smooth like he was twelve years ago. And so Manuel took the time to take a short nap_ _—_ _when he awoke, he stretched, and sat silently in bed for a while. His mind began to drift to earlier times, and he remembered when he had first met the King. Manuel was only a child at the time, and his family had long been the Royal Servants of the King and Queen. At the time, Miroslav was not King yet, merely a bright but mature teenager with kindness brimming from his eyes. And Manuel remembers when he was upset that he had to live his life taking care of other people, but everything was alright when Miroslav had placed a gentle hand upon his head._

_"I'm sorry to be a burden to you," he had said. "But I appreciate your family more than I appreciate myself."_

_And Manuel, as young as he was back then_ _—_ _didn't care anymore. He'd live his life to protect this kind male in front of him, no matter what._

_"We were so young," Manuel had whispered to himself, and then he proceeded to walk to Philipp's, and, upon arriving at the front door, he had heard more than one voice inside. This spiked his curiosity, and so he entered without knocking on the door..._

Which is why he was standing here, right now, in a room of three people. They looked back at him and an awkward silence hung through the air, but then Philipp stood up and greeted him, and everything was normal again.

 

Except that it was not.

 

"Glad to see you, Manu!" Philipp said as he pulled the taller man in a tight embrace. "You've caught me at quite a busy time, sorry about that!"

 

Manuel looked behind Philipp, and mentally cursed when he registered what he saw.

 

 _There he goes again,_ he thought to himself. Goddammit, there was some guy—he looked like a _kid_ —sitting on one of the infirmary beds, and Manuel didn't have to be a detective to know that Miroslav probably found him and took him straight to Philipp's. He looked the King over; Miroslav himself was fine— _no scratches, no dirt, just a ripped shirt (did he get caught on something?) Oh, the kid's bleeding, and the sleeve's a bandage.Goddammit, Miro!_

"I think it stopped bleeding," the kid suddenly says, and Philipp scurries over like a worried mom tending an injured child. Manuel wants to put his head into his hands—leave it to Miroslav and Philipp to forget completely about safety and remember everything there is to first aid—this kid could be an assassin, for god's sake!

 

And then Philipp's unwinding the makeshift bandage from the kid's head, and he winces, and Manuel notices how Miroslav's hand is on the kid's shoulders in an _instant,_ and no, this is not jealousy that Manuel's feeling, not at all. Miroslav was like that with everyone. Manuel was used to it.

 

"There, there," Philipp says, more to himself than anyone else in the room. "I'm going to clean your wound, and it might sting, so bear it for a bit, okay?"

 

And the kid stares, and nods, but then he narrows his eyes, and Manuel feels like he's not going to like this guy already. There was something... _off_ about him. Maybe it was just his protective instincts, but Manuel somehow knew that this kid was going to be trouble.

 

"Are you sure it can't just stay like that? I don't like stings," the kid says, and he's actually serious. Manuel doesn't believe his ears.

 

Apparently, Philipp doesn't believe his ears either.

 

"Uh, well, sorry?" He apologizes, and Manuel doesn't get why. "Well, I'm trained, so don't worry, it'll only sting a little bit, sorry?"

 

_Enter Philipp Lahm, Royal Doctor, Nurse, Surgeon...mostly Nurse, but who's paying attention to the labels? Philipp is the second kindest person in the kingdom, the only kinder person being the King himself. Philipp runs the infirmary, and tends to the sick wherever he can--his duty does is not just limited to the castle itself. He travels inside the kingdom, handling diseases and injuries, soothing all with his gentle touch. No matter what the situation, Philipp throws his life to the side and prefers to tend to the troubles and injuries of others instead. Thus, the Royal Infirmary is established as not only a place to mend physical pain, but emotional pain as well. In fact, it is preferred by many over Lukas' bar, as Philipp provides caring advice, rather than copious amounts of alcohol..._

"This is Thomas," Miroslav suddenly says, and Manuel thinks he's never heard the King sound any more stupid. "He was injured and lost, and so I brought him here."

 

Scratch that, Miroslav was totally capable of sounding and being unreasonable. This situation right now was Exhibit A. Manuel raises a hand and waves at the kid—Thomas—lamely, and Thomas waves a hand back at him, and smiles.

 

"This is Manuel," Miroslav says to Thomas, while gesturing at the person in reference. "He's a very great friend of mine."

 

 _You bet your socks I'm a great friend of his,_ Manuel thinks, and tries to send this over into Thomas' head through some lost skill of telepathy that he thinks he has. But he doesn't, and instead Thomas just nods, and winces again as Philipp applies some green paste to the wound. He then bandages it, and steps back, smiling and admiring his work.

 

"Alright, you're all clear now! You can rest here, if you'd like," Philipp says, and Manuel thinks that he needs to start writing list of 'things to not do when you find someone outside the kingdom territory'. And he's about to open his mouth to tell Philipp that Thomas should go, when Thomas' stomach growls.

 

And then it growls again, this time louder. And then Manuel just feels really bad for the kid, because he's bright as a tomato, and from his mouth tumbles a chorus of _oh I'm sorry, please ignore that, oh my gosh that was so embarrassing._

But then he hears a sound, one that he hasn't heard in forever—Miroslav’s laughing, really laughing, and it's as crisp and clear as Manuel remembers it.

 

"Sorry about that," Thomas says meekly. Miroslav laughs again, and looks at Manuel.

 

"Manu, have you had lunch yet?"

 

He shakes his head— _almost_ misses the sudden flash in the kid’s eyes as Miroslav called him by his nickname. Manuel suddenly feels like a gloating twelve-year-old that had gotten more praise by a teacher. He feels stupid, but oddly satisfied for some reason.

 

"And you, Philipp?"

 

The other man shakes his head as well.

 

"Alright then, why don't we all head to lunch? I do feel sorry for Bastian because I did not eat most of his dishes this morning," Miroslav says, and then he pauses to think about something. Then, "Philipp, are you free to come to lunch?"

 

"You can just bring me something after you finish," Philipp said. "I have two new recruits I must first tend to. Marco's working them hard, you see..."

 

"Ah, that's too bad then. Yes, we will bring you something! Come, friends," Miroslav says, and offers a hand to Thomas. Manuel watches with a twitching eye as Thomas flushes, looks at Miroslav with a disturbing _adoration_ in his eyes, and then shyly takes the hand and allows himself to be pulled up by the older man.

 

They walk by Manuel, and he tries to calm himself down as Thomas passes by him without even batting an eye, instead focusing every part of his being on Miroslav. And then he wonders, does Thomas even know that Miroslav is the King? Probably not, since he was acting so nonchalant in front of Philipp the whole time.

 

"What do you prefer, Thomas?" He hears Miroslav ask, and then "Anything, really. I love all the foods," is the reply.

 

Frustrated, angry, and not jealous, _not at all,_ not one _bit,_ Manuel exits the infirmary and follows behind the two.

 

He pretends that his eye is not twitching when Miroslav places his hand on the small of Thomas' back.

 

*


	4. what he doesn't know actually hurts a lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas finally finds out who the man is, and faces one of the hardest decisions in his life.

*

Thomas had never been picky with his food—in the Outskirts, what you had is what you got. Any complaints and you'd go starving for the night. The bandage on his head was wrapped comfortably too; it wasn't tight and messy like the ones the uncaring nurses had wrapped for him back home. Thomas found that the kingdom was nicer, in so many ways, than the Outskirts. He really wondered with every fiber of his being why the Rebels wanted to leave such glorious lifestyles for one of constant running and secrecy. He didn't understand.

 

Here, in this kingdom, it was barely his first day, but he had already been tended to by an amazing doctor, rescued from death in a forest...and had ultimately fallen in love, with a man. An _older_ man, too.

 

Thomas flushed at the thought of it. The whole situation was like a scenario he had heard in those dumb books he found in a home he once ransacked; a princess was rescued by a prince on a horse, and then they had fallen in love and lived _happily ever after._

What exactly _was_ a 'happily ever after'? Thomas really didn't know, but, he realized that earlier, as he was walking alongside the man who had helped him, he couldn't help but think of 'happily ever after', and that he wanted to have that with this man—whatever 'happily ever after' was. As he was contemplating his thoughts, he suddenly felt a warm hand press along the small of his back, softly guiding him along the way.

 

Thomas felt his throat go dry, and he swallowed hard. God, it was just a hand, just a _human hand_ guiding him by his back, nothing else! Many others had done the same! Many others had done the same gesture too—and yet, here he was, getting flustered and overreacting like some damsel. He was Thomas, _Sir_ Thomas the _Great_ , and he did not get flustered over a hand that belonged to an older man.

 

But Thomas had to admit, he was attractive in many ways that made Thomas experience for the first time a raw _want_ that blossomed from deep inside him. Perhaps it was the shade of his eyes, or the softness of his voice. Perhaps it was his caring attitude and compassionate gestures. But Thomas pushed it aside—or at least tried to. Yeah, he still had a mission to complete, and many other things to do. He had no time to experience _feelings,_ when he didn't even know the man's _name._

_God, that_ _’_ _s right, I don't even know his name,_ Thomas realized, and he was just about to ask, but it seemed that the beautiful scent of many foods had drifted into his nose.

 

Thomas looked up and shook himself from his thoughts, suddenly focusing on his surroundings. There were other soldiers piling in through the door, some older and some younger, and various others as well, who Thomas assumed to be part of the castle's staff.  While his table was occupied by the man and his friend—Manuel, whom Thomas didn't really feel comfortable around—the table to his right was occupied by four men—they looked to be only probably two years older than him, and yet Thomas noticed that they seemed much more sophisticated and proud. To his left, a man with a large smile and blindingly white teeth was laughing loudly at an embarrassed shorter male who seemed really, really young. Among the table also were two other males, one with pale hair slicked stylishly to the side, and one with a messy flop of curls. They all seemed to be teasing the younger male, whose name was 'Mario', from what Thomas had picked out.

 

Thomas was taking in his surroundings with great detail, burning everything into his mind, when the man in front of him spoke.

 

"Is there anything in particular that you would like to eat?" He asked Thomas again, and Thomas shook his head. He could not be picky, not now, when he had intruded on this man's time for so long already.

 

"Are you sure? The chef here is one of the greatest," he said, smiling. Thomas flushed; that smile was so lovely.

 

He was about to say that he didn't really prefer anything, but then the kitchen doors opened, and servants walked out in perfectly straight lines, holding trays and plates filled with different types of foods, ranging from small sandwiches to steaming bowls of soup. Thomas had to control his mouth; he felt drool sliding through the side. Everything looked and smelled _so good._ When the servants stopped by his table, they laid out a tray in front of each person at the table, and paused at Thomas.

 

"Serve him whatever he wishes for," the man said to the servants, and they nodded. Thomas asked for a portion of everything, and sat awkwardly, not knowing what to start on first.

 

"I prefer sandwiches with the tomato soup especially," the man said, perhaps to Thomas, perhaps to no one. "But of course, everything here is delicious."

 

Thomas brought a shy spoonful of soup to his lips, and swallowed it, and _woah._ He then picked out a sandwich, and took a bite, and _goddamn,_ if there was something that Thomas could live off forever, he decided that it would be everything in front of him. He'd never tasted such delicious food before.

 

"I take it that you like it?" Manuel asked, without really looking at Thomas, and Thomas turned to Manuel and felt uncomfortable again. There was something in his gaze that made Thomas feel like he was under constant scrutiny.

 

"This—everything—it's delicious," Thomas says stupidly. Manuel gives him a weird look, like Thomas was some hermit that had been isolated from civilization.

 

"That's good to hear," the man says, and begins eating himself. Thomas notices how Manuel watches the man eat, and then he thinks that there might be more than just friendship between the two. He feels oddly frustrated, and slightly jealous, and so he begins eating furiously, uncaring. In the middle of a very large bite from a sandwich, Thomas notices the man smiling at him, and this almost makes him choke.

 

Halfway through the meal, Thomas notices someone in white—the chef? And he comes around every table, greeting everyone warmly, and finally, when he stops at Thomas' table, he pauses to look at him.

 

"Are you all enjoying the lunch?" The chef asks, and Thomas nods quickly, along with the two other men at his table. The chef smiles.

 

"Great! I was worried, since this morning you did not touch much of the food," the chef said to the man in front of Thomas. "I picked out those tomatoes especially for you this afternoon."

 

"No, good friend, you didn't have to," the man starts, but the chef quieted him with a careless wave of his hand. 

 

"Oh, Miro," The chef sighed, and Thomas' ears perked up at the sound of the nickname.

 

_Wait_ _—_ _Miro?_

_Did he say Miro? As in, Miroslav Klose?_ Thomas wondered, suddenly alert.

 

"He's humble and stubborn as always, right, Basti?" Manuel sighed beside him. Thomas watched with growing denial as the chef nodded with tired eyes.

 

"We only want the best for you, Miro," the chef said sadly. "You're our King, you know? We'd be lost without you."

 

"We really would be," Manuel says, eyes distant. "That's why no matter what, you're our top priority!"

 

Thomas' heart beat faster and faster, as the man—no, Miroslav Klose—simply sighed, and looked up at the chef.

 

"Thank you, Bastian, Manuel" Miroslav said. "For everything."

 

 _Holy shit,_ Thomas thought. _Holy shit._

_He was Miroslav Klose. He was the King. The King; the pacifist everyone hates._

_The King that Thomas was supposed to **kill.**_

****

_Miroslav Klose, the King_ _—_ _whom Thomas had **fallen in love with.**_

****

_Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ was all Thomas could think of at the moment. His head began to hurt.

 

He realized that he had stopped breathing, and all three pairs of eyes were on him.

 

"Is something the matter?" Miroslav asked, eyes flashing with worry.

 

"You—you're," Thomas starts, unable to produce words.

 

"The _King_ of this castle," Manuel finishes for him.

 

Thomas watches with mixed feelings as Miroslav's cheeks color a bit, and the man smiles sheepishly and shyly, like a child who's been caught hiding something, and Thomas' mind goes blank, because _fuck,_ he’s supposed to kill him but he _can't_ kill him, can't kill Miroslav who's been so _kind_ to him--

 

Thomas' suddenly head erupts in a splitting pain, and his wound starts bleeding through the bandages (he can feel it) and he's just in an entire state of panic, doesn't know what to do, and all the while people are talking around him, the chef is looking at him, Manuel is scrutinizing him again, and Miroslav—

 

Miroslav's just—

 

“Thomas, are you alright?!”

 

Thomas rubs his temples with one hand, trying to ease the sharp pain that won't stop growing. He ignores the worried look Miroslav on his face, ignores everything around him, and slowly reaches, with his left hand, for a knife that he had hidden in the space of his boots.

 

If he was going to succeed in his mission, the only way to do it would be to kill Miroslav, right _here,_ right _now._

 

Thomas knew perfectly well that if he waited even a few minutes, his hardened determination would dissipate into torturous indecision.

 

Thomas grabbed the handle of his knife, and prayed to all the gods that what he was going to do was a right thing.

 

He was going to something worse than hell for this.

 

 _I_ _’_ _m so sorry, Miro,_ he thought.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for leaving the chapter at a cliffhanger ;-;
> 
> I really need to write the rest, quickly, quickly...hope you guys are enjoying it!


	5. better days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manuel makes a startling discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hey! Thanks for all the kudos and feedback, I'm so happy you guys like this story! Haha, I'm trying my best to produce chapters so please bear with me ;-;

 

In a person's life, there are always happier times; times that reflect upon carefree smiles and peaceful memories. Times that contain the purest intentions and the softest laughs, laced with innocence like a child's shoe.

 

Manuel remembers happier times, like when he and Miroslav were younger and there was no Sylwia in the picture, no wrinkles on both their faces—no depression settling in the King's mind.

 

Everyone was happy. Everyone was carefree, looking up at skies without a second thought, not even thinking of the horrors to come. It was just as it is—home, safe and sound. That was it. And for a while, it was all Manuel knew.

 

How idiotic he was, for thinking that Miroslav would always be by his side forever.

She came, along with others, in a flood of panic. The kingdom across the sea had been ransacked; devoid of any life, and everyone flood to Miroslav's castle in an attempt to seek refuge. The guards had been startled; the mob contained about 13 people, amongst them only one woman. The rest were young men, barely of age.

 

Of course, Miroslav took them in with warm hands. The young men were given jobs in the city, and the woman stayed in the castle to work as a maid.

 

A month later, she became a Queen. Her name was Sylwia, and Manuel hated her intensely. He was strictly against it; Miroslav could’ve had hundreds of different women, and Manuel didn’t like Sylwia one bit. But Miroslav assured him it was only for the bloodline, and, well, _fuck the bloodline,_ because Manuel knew that the man loved her, just didn’t want to admit it.

 

About a year and a half later, Sylwia gave birth to twin boys, both with Miroslav's eyes, and as Manuel held them, felt their fingers wrap around one of his, he felt a tug in his heart, like it was supposed to be this way--he, the caretaker, and Miroslav, the happy one.

 

And then Sylwia passed away during the night, from overexertion and blood loss, and Manuel held Miroslav as he held in tears, only letting them go when he realized that Manuel was crying too.

 

The twins were named Luan and Noah, and they were the only things that had mattered to Miroslav for quite a while. Even Manuel couldn’t get into his friend’s space anymore.

 

Manuel recalls all this with a slight bitterness that should not be there. But he just woke the twins up this morning and fell a little bit more in love with their father, and yeah, Manuel's just going to be bitter for the rest of his life.

 

Random thoughts swim around in his head until he notices that the food's here.

 

It's delicious, as always, and he begins shoveling it all into his mouth, not caring that Miroslav's chuckling and Thomas is gaping. Bastian rolls by later, being grateful that Miroslav's eating, and then Manuel almost chokes on on his water when he sees Thomas' reaction to finding out that Miroslav's the king.

 

Actually, something about his reaction wasn't right. He looked too nervous. Too busy, too...

 

Manuel didn't know what he looked like, but he definitely felt danger coming from him, and it wasn't good at all. Miroslav, being the most oblivious person ever, doesn't notice anything, and scoots closer, asking if Thomas is alright.

 

And then Thomas rubs his temples with one hand, and Manuel sees slight movement in his left, and _my god_ Thomas is reaching for something in his boot, and—

 

Manuel's moving before he thinks. He grabs hold of Thomas' arm suddenly, and a flash of metal proves that Thomas had a weapon in his boot. He was here to murder the King, Manuel was sure of it—but on his watch, it wasn't going to happen. Not at all. He thought Thomas was just a dumb kid who had a big crush, like Manuel himself. He tried to sympathize with Thomas, but now, he could not.

 

Not after knowing.

 

He was about to dig his nails into Thomas' arm when suddenly, the doors burst open, and Marco slumps in, looking tired and sleepy and everything _not_ Marco.

 

Bastian's attention focuses on Marco, and he hurries to him, helping the Knight over to an empty table.

 

"Can you let go of me?" Thomas hisses, and Manuel only tightens his hold.

 

"You got something in your boot," Manuel says. "You can't lie to me, I saw it."

 

"You're ridiculous," Thomas says, and he glares at Manuel, eyes flashing with anger. Manuel's not phased one bit, he's seen the tantrums of Cristiano, the young prince from the next kingdom over. Thomas' tiny gaze is nothing compared to the Prince's messy brawls.

 

"What're you trying to pull?" Manuel asks, fiercely, and pulls Thomas close, staring him down. Thomas hardens his glare, doesn't stand down.

 

"I'm not pulling anything," Thomas said. "My leg was itchy. I scratched it. Problem?"

 

"Yeah, itchy from the weapon you got in there."

 

"You know what? Why don't you—"

 

"That's quite enough!" Miroslav raises his voice, and the entire room settles down in an instant. Everyone's attention is focused on them. You could slice the tension in the room right in half with a knife.

 

"Manuel, that is no way to treat our guest," Miroslav said to him, and Manuel can't even believe his ears. "Let go of Thomas, and apologize, now."

 

"But, he had a—"

 

_“_ _Neuer."_

"You don't understand!" Manuel protests. "You're in danger!"

 

He was distressed and surprised; Miroslav never called him by his last name unless he was furious. Around the room, there were whispers.

 

"The only one in danger is _you,"_ Miroslav threatens, eyes flashing with an anger that hasn't been there since Manuel nearly killed himself climbing a tree. It was the anger that signaled never-ending lectures in the near future.

 

"Have I never taught you the correct ways to treat a guest? Please, Manuel, apologize to Thomas."

 

Manuel is at a loss for words, and he feels that he could probably explode from anger.

 

" _Now,"_ Miroslav says, and the look on his face makes Manuel feel like a child being scolded in front of everyone.

 

Which the situation basically was, anyway.

 

"I'm sorry," Manuel mutters, dropping Thomas' arm. The other man scoffs at him, and if Miroslav wasn't there, Manuel's pretty sure that he would've decked Thomas in the face already. The kid was pissing him off.

 

"Accepted," Thomas sneers, and _what a bastard,_ Manuel thinks.

 

And he's about to retort with something, but then Miroslav's looking at him disapprovingly, and Manuel sits down in a huff, and folds his arms. He's so angry that he doesn't even notice that the room's still too quiet.

 

"Excuse me?" A voice asks from behind Manuel, and he turns around quickly.

 

It's Marco, and Mats, and they're both looking at Thomas like he was some amazing creature that they had never seen before.

 

"Excuse me," Marco says again, clearing his throat, and taps Thomas' shoulder lightly. Thomas turns, a confused look on his features.

 

"Uhm, yes?" He asked quietly. Manuel still wants to deck him in the face.

 

There's a moment of awkwardness and Thomas fidgets in his seat while Marco and Mats stay silent. And then, "See! I _fucking_ _told you!_ " Mats suddenly says, grinning ear to ear.

 

"My god, you're right," Marco says, eyes widening in disbelief. 

 

"Of _course_ I'm right!" Mats says, grinning even wider than before. "These eyes of mine are _never_ wrong!"

 

"Uhm," Thomas says, visibly uncomfortable. Manuel still wants to deck him in the face.

 

"Sorry, sorry," Marco quickly says. "It's just—"

 

"You're _Thomas_ fucking _M_ _ü_ _ller,_ aren't you?!" Mats interrupts, and Marco shoots a glare at him. And then, it's like Mats had ignited a set of fireworks, because suddenly, everyone stops eating, and in a few seconds it’s a crazy movement of soldiers and knights rushing to their table.

 

" _Sir Thomas M_ _ü_ _ller?!"_ Mario exclaims, and Manuel's never seen the young man so excited in his entire life.

 

"The _Great!"_ Mats says, and smacks Mario's ass out of excitement, and Mario's looking like he's going to burst from embarrassment from being smacked and admiration for Thomas at the same time. Marco, on the other hand, was not amused at his friend's action, but pushed it down and took one of Thomas' hands.

 

"You, Sir, are an inspiration to all of us," Marco said. "We admire your skills very much."

 

The room grows loud as everyone says words of agreements. _Am I the only one who doesn_ _’_ _t care what he is?_ Manuel thought bitterly.

 

"I—uhm, I," Thomas says, visibly overwhelmed and flustered.

 

"You're a Knight?" Miroslav asked curiously, eyes sparkling with interest.

 

Thomas nodded dumbly, and Manuel _really_ wanted to deck him in the face.

 

"Why, he's one of the _best!"_ Mats says, and man, he was really excited. Thomas simply flushed in embarrassment, feeling overwhelmed.

 

"There's a legend in the dining room, and it's not Bastian for once," Lukas observes, and Bastian rolls his eyes.

 

"Sir Thomas, if you don't mind, it would be an honor to be able to have a duel with you later this day," Marco said, eyes wide and glistening.

 

"Ah, yes," Miroslav agreed. "Thomas! If you are a Knight, then please, duel with Marco here! He's the best one in this Kingdom."

 

"Well, I—I don't think," Thomas began, but everyone looked at him with pleading eyes, and  he quieted, flushing once again.

 

"Thomas," Miroslav said gently. Everyone's attention was now focused on the King.

 

"I don't know, I don't think I can just—"

 

"Come on, Sir! _Please!_ " Mario begged suddenly, and turned red immediately after. He let his excitement get the better of him, and a soft smile from Marco made things slightly more worse. He couldn't stop blushing.

 

"I—you guys—" Thomas stammered, unable to form words.

 

"It would be a _pleasure_ to have you duel in my castle, if you are as great as everyone says, Thomas," Miroslav said.

 

And to Thomas, that was the final piece of persuasion he needed. Manuel watched with frustration as Thomas looked to the King with conflicting emotions evident in his eyes. And then, the man's eyes clouded over with the same adoration again, and Manuel knew that from then on, Thomas would probably be staying in the castle for a while.

 

"Alright," Thomas said, unsure, and there were a chorus of cheers around the room.

 

"Holy _fuck,_ yes!" Mats screamed, fists pumping in the air.

 

"Thank you, Sir Thomas," Marco said, bowing in front of the younger man. "I will see to the preparations soon!"

 

Manuel watched the Knight hurry off, with Mario looking after him, and he felt sorry for the kid. Love hurts.

 

"Go after him," Lukas said, pushing Mario to the door. There was a chorus of catcalls, and Mario shrugged.

 

"Go after me instead, yeah?" Mats winked at Mario, and Lukas rolled his eyes.

 

"Now, now, let's calm down, everyone," Miroslav said, rising from his chair. "There will be a magnificent duel this evening, and we must prepare for such an important event."

 

"Oh, shall I begin preparing a feast then?" Bastian asked, eyes sparkling at thoughts of creating more culinary perfections.

 

"Yes, that would be great, Bastian, thank you." Bastian immediately hurried off to the kitchens, and muffled, excited yelling could be heard, followed by loud banging and clashing of pots and pans.

 

“Isn’t he the cutest,” Lukas commented, and André gagged next to him.

 

"Alright, Your Majesty, I'm gonna go run for a few messages to send throughout the castle, so excuse my absence for a few hours," Mats said as he walked through the door, yawning.

 

"I'm going to go down into the stock room to bring up more wine! Your Majesty, is Merlot alright?"

 

"Yes, that will do," Miroslav said, looking around the room with a soft smile. "Ah, yes, Manuel--won't you accompany the new recruits to the Armory, and help them with their fittings? I'd like them to be in their official armor tonight."

 

Manuel inwardly groaned; he hated fitting armor. It took forever, and it was awkward and often uncomfortable for the new recruits, who often felt uncomfortable with someone else helping them into their armor.

 

"Yes, Your Majesty, I will," Manuel said, bowing slightly and feeling guilty at seeing the flinch in Miroslav's face, since Manuel never used formalities unless he was in a bad mood. He faced the young knights. "Come, I'll take you to the Armory now." They stood up, and all crowded around Manuel, following him out the door in a straight and neat line. Manuel threw a backwards glance behind him into the dining room, and tried to ignore the bubbling jealousy in his stomach.

 

Thomas and Miroslav were alone in the room, he hoped nothing would happen to the King.

 

He really hoped nothing would happen.


	6. underneath everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas makes a move (finally).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually researched types of wine for this chapter, HAHAHA
> 
> Enjoy! <3 I love all of you guys VERY MUCH. Thanks so much for all the support <3
> 
> IMPORTANT: originally there were mentions of spiking drinks in this chapter, but I've revised it due to sensitivity issues and just other things in general. Spiking is bad. Never do it. ):

 

They were the only ones in the room, minus Bastian, who was preoccupied in the kitchen.

 

Thomas swallowed a little, and shifted his eyes to the man in front of him. His eyes locked with the beautiful blue orbs that belonged to _Miroslav Klose,_ and Thomas' head felt a sharp pain once again. He cleared his throat, hoping to break the silence.

 

"I'm—"

 

"You're—"

 

Thomas had opened his mouth at the same time Miroslav did, and they both fell quiet. Thomas felt blood rush to his face; he was red and he knew it. He couldn't help it. He was developing feelings for the _King,_ of all people. This wasn't going to end well.

 

"You first," Miroslav gestured to him, and Thomas' eyes fell to his hands. The King's fingers were long and slender, and Thomas flushed as he remembered those hands in his own. They were smaller than his, but still strong and firm.

 

"You're the King," Thomas said quietly, still halfway in denial. "I had no idea, I really had no idea, Your Majesty."

 

Miroslav studied him for a moment, and smiled sadly. Thomas felt a tug in his heart.

 

"I'm sorry," Miroslav said, in that quiet and smooth voice of his. Thomas felt guilty. "I don't really find myself...suitable for the position, you see."

 

Thomas frowned. Why would he think that? Obviously, he was fit to rule.

 

"Why do you think that? Everyone adores you," Thomas said, stepping closer to Miroslav.

 

"I just...don't feel capable with my age and abilities," Miroslav said, half sighing. "The title of 'King' is heavy, Thomas. I'm sorry I did not tell you when we first met."

 

Miroslav was staring at him, eyes watery and deep, and Thomas feels like crying, too. Miroslav was probably the gentlest person he'd ever met. There was no way he could murder him.

 

"I feel bad for intruding upon everything," Thomas said truthfully. "I've wasted your time, and disrupted the castle."

 

Miroslav shook his head, and Thomas took another step closer to him.

 

"I really wish for you to participate in the duel tonight," Miroslav said pleadingly, looking at Thomas with sad eyes. "The castle—everyone's been stressed lately, and it's my fault. I really want them to relax and enjoy something for a while..." He trailed off, lost in thought.

 

Thomas didn't know what overcame him at the time, but next thing he knew, he was stepping closer to Miroslav, closer and closer, and then—

 

"I'll do anything to help you," Thomas whispered, bringing Miroslav into a tight hug. The older man stood silently, and rested his head along the crook of Thomas' neck. Thomas' heart was flying faster than a hawk after its prey, and he held onto Miroslav tightly, breathing him in. Miroslav smelled of something fresh, like a forest, after a big storm.

 

"Thank you." Was the reply, and Thomas was surprised at how small the voice was. He held the man tighter, not sure of what to say. Thomas wasn't sure what he was feeling, but this was a moment he would keep in his mind forever.

 

"Am I intruding on something?"

 

Thomas jumped, letting go of Miroslav, and looked behind him to find Bastian peeking his head out through the kitchen door. His face and voice were tinged with amusement.

 

"It's not—" Thomas said, but Bastian was already heading back into the kitchen, cackling with glee.

 

"Oh, I can't wait to tell Lukas!"

 

Thomas was in the process of opening the door to tell Bastian _no, it's not like that,_ but then he hears Miroslav laughing, and it's so clear, and smooth, and Thomas doesn't want Miroslav to stop laughing, ever.

 

"Would you like to take a tour of the castle?" Miroslav asks suddenly, and Thomas nods.

 

They're walking together out the door when his fingers accidentally brush Miroslav's, and Thomas opens his mouth to say _sorry,_ but then Miroslav takes his hand and leads Thomas through hallways and rooms with a smile on his face, and Thomas feels like he's finally found something to live for.

 

*

 

Lukas lit a lantern and descended the stairs down into the stockroom. He hated going down; the place was always dusty and a little creepy, but that's where all the fine wine was stored, so he had to go there often, much to his dislike for the underground. It wasn't that he was _afraid,_ more like, curious. He'd heard rumors of something else lurking beneath the castle, but never really knew what.

 

"If it's alcohol lurking, we've got plenty," he muttered to himself. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he fished for the key, and unlocked the door. He forced the heavy door open, sneezing as it opened with a dusty groan. Lukas stepped inside, smiling as the sweet smell of hundreds of different kinds of alcohol greeted his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, reveling in the sweet scent of expensive wine.

 

"This is the life," he exclaimed, and strolled over to pick out different wines that would be served later. He picked up a bottle of Merlot for the youngsters who were barely being introduced to the royal liquid—it'd be a waste to serve something stronger to young mouths who couldn't appreciate the flavor. For the older occupants of the castle, Lukas decided on Cabernet Sauvignon, since Bastian would most likely be serving large portions of red meat that night. Lukas was already drooling at the thought of delicious steak and wine; the only thing he loved more than alcohol was great cooking.

 

And Bastian.

 

 _I'm really thankful for him,_ Lukas thought. And it was true. Bastian was his friend before his...object of affections. Before the flirtations, there were the daily jokes and conversations. Lukas thought about their past fondly, recalling some sweet memories. In the corner of his eye, he spotted a bottle of Pinot Noir, and immediately ran over to it.

 

"His Majesty is going to be pleased by this," Lukas said to himself as he tucked the bottle under his arm, and ascended the stairs.

 

He closed the door to the stockroom, and arrived at his bar, where Bastian was waiting, hands on his hips. Lukas pretended to be oblivious, and kept the bottles of wine as far away from his friend as possible. 

 

"Did you need something, Basti?" He asked, faking concern. 

 

"Oh, please, you know what I need for my dishes," Bastian scoffed, and reached for the bottle of Merlot. Lukas could only hand the chef the bottle, and then blushed when their fingers came in contact. 

 

"Mmhm, indeed I do," Lukas whispered. 

 

He watched Bastian's retreating figure the whole way, until the man was out of sight.

 

Then, he picked up a glass and wiped it idly, mind running elsewhere.

 

Hopefully, tonight would be a good one.

 

*


	7. kiss from a rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: FLUFF. Lots and lots of fluff. Fluff in your ears, in my veins. I researched flower language too, haha, if that's anything more fluffy to add. Enjoy the cuties, cuties. <3

 

Thomas had always considered himself as a _man_. Well, it was given that he was a _man,_ but he meant that he was definitely more _man_ than others. He was manly—he had muscles, he could duel with other men and win, and he had strength and courage. Therefore, he'd always thought of himself being more masculine than others.

 

Thomas took a look at the man next to him.

 

 _Now that I'm here, I'm gonna take everything back,_ he thought. Was feeling emotions like affection not manly? Was loving someone not manly? Thomas contemplated all these questions in his head with much confusion. He'd seen his companions buy women in the Outskirts, and no way in hell was that love, that was just getting rid of stress. No, he didn't want the King just to get rid of stress, it was more deeper than that.

 

_What was it...?_

Thomas really didn't know—all he knew was that there were thoughts in the back of his mind, bad thoughts like wanting to feel Miroslav's skin beneath his hands, wanting to taste the other man's mouth.

 

 _But he's the goddamn King!_ Thomas thought bitterly. Leave it to him to pick up an attraction to someone who probably wouldn't look at him twice. Besides, Miroslav probably had a Queen somewhere, too. The thought of that made Thomas sad, and he shook his head quickly. He hoped that Miroslav wouldn't see his troubled expression, but it was too late—the King was sharp, especially for changes in the demeanor of others.

 

"Are you feeling a bit tired, Thomas?" Miroslav asked next to him, eyes focused on the younger man.

 

"No, no! I'm fine," Thomas said quickly, hoping that he didn't sound nervous. "I'm just a bit...overwhelmed. This castle is enormous, Your Majesty." Truth be told, Thomas felt extremely awkward at the moment; he didn't know if his formalities were correct. There was never room for formalities in the Outskirts—he hoped that Miroslav wouldn't notice lapses in his manners, or if he even had any.

 

Miroslav simply studied him for a moment, pretty eyes making Thomas want to melt. Then, he took Thomas' hand again, and led him off the balcony.

 

"Come, Thomas. I want to show you something," Miroslav said with a smile, giving his hand a soft tug. Thomas followed behind dumbly, allowing himself to be taken anywhere. "Oh, and, please—no formalities. Just 'Miro' will do perfectly fine."

 

Thomas could only nod dumbly, and he almost tripped over his own feet when he realized that he was now descending a flight of stairs. He stumbled against Miro slightly, and blushed as the older man gave a soft chuckle. They reached the end of the stairs, and Miro took them to a gigantic door guarded by two Knights.

 

"Going out into the gardens, Your Majesty?" One of the Knights asked, and Miro nodded.

 

"Alright. Please enjoy your time out there, Your Majesty," the other Knight said, and both of them began pushing open the large door, which was opening with a loud groan.

 

"Please, men, drop the formalities," Miro said to the Knights, who only shook their heads at their King in response. Miro simply sighed, and beckoned Thomas to come with him through the door. When he passed through the Knights, he felt one of them shift slightly.

 

"You're His Majesty's guest?" The one on the right asked, and Thomas nodded. "Alright then, please proceed." Thomas thanked the night, and quickly passed through the doorway—and gasped.

 

Before him was a beautiful sight, perhaps even more beautiful than sunsets and Miro's eyes.

 

It was a garden, and that was an understatement. It was probably the epitome of all gardens, and Thomas was blown away by the beauty contained in the sight before him. Rows of perfect red roses stood in bloom, followed by more rows of perfect roses of different colors. Great bushels of hydrangeas bloomed along the edges of a large fountain, and Thomas closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of sweetness and fresh water. Daffodils, daisies, and carnations stood neatly in beautiful patterns, mixing in a beautiful tangle of yellow, white, and pink. Lilies and lilacs situated themselves around the bottom of different statues (probably of previous Kings, Thomas assumed), and the soft blooms of tulips, sweet smell of chrysanthemum, and tall stalks of sunflowers all burned their images into Thomas' mind.

 

He stood in awe, looking around him for a few moments, turning three-hundred-sixty degrees in a full circle and taking everything in. Thomas loved the smell of his surroundings; loved how peaceful everything was. He didn't care that he was supposed to be a man; he'd always had a soft spot for flowers, and plants. They were just all so pretty, like blushing maidens.

 

_And blue-eyed Kings._

 

Thomas flushed at the thought of Miro again, and remembered that he was here with the King. He turned around to find the man, but Miro was nowhere to be seen. Frowning, Thomas walked further into the gardens, and was surprised at the height of the sunflowers; they were even taller than him! He smiled as a butterfly flittered around him, landing on his hand and then flying away somewhere else, in search of pollen. Suddenly, there was a soft tap on his shoulder, and Thomas turned around to find himself face to face with a large and sweet red rose.

 

"For you," Miro said shyly, voice even quieter than usual. Thomas blushed to the tip of his ears, and accepted the flower graciously. He brought it to his face and inhaled deeply, reveling in the wonderful scent.

 

"Thank you, Miro," Thomas said, cursing at himself, for his voice sounded so shaky and small.

 

"Do you like flowers?" Miro asked him, and bent down to look at a small group of orchids.

 

"Actually, I love them," Thomas said, and he bent down with Miro. They squatted next to each other silently for a few moments, watching bees fly from flower to flower. "I know some flower language, too, like, for example…red roses are supposed to signify love."

 

Thomas froze after he realized what he said, and he felt the blood leave his face. _Shit, shit, shit, way to go, Thomas,_ he thought. _Way to be subtle!_

But then Thomas noted the soft patches of red blooming on Miro's cheeks, like patches of flowers blooming, and he smiled to himself. _So I take it that you like me, even just a little bit?_

"Ah, yes, red roses do signify love indee—"

Suddenly, Thomas had an idea. He excused himself quickly, cutting Miro's sentence short. He ran around the garden until he found a beautiful burst of orange—oriental lilies. He picked a couple, and swooped down to pluck one tulip. He rushed back to Miro, and presented his bouquet of flowers to the man. The King looked at him, eyes wide, and then a smile swept across his features and he took the flowers. Thomas' heart gave a soft tug again, and he felt himself opening his mouth before his mind registered what he was saying.

 

"The lilies—they're oriental lilies," Thomas began. "They signify majesty—and you're the King, so I thought they'd be suitable for you..."

 

Miro smiled at Thomas, really smiled, and Thomas felt his heart jump to his throat. _He's so beautiful,_ Thomas thought.

 

"And the tulip?" Miro asked, stepping closer to Thomas. Thomas kept his gaze steady on Miro's eyes, and began talking again.

 

"The tulip, I only picked one," Thomas said quietly. "Because it signifies a declaration of love." And he stepped closer to Miro, closer and closer, until their feet were touching. He was slightly taller than Miro, and so the King had to look up a little, and Thomas was swimming in those eyes again.

 

"A slight difference from the red rose, then," Miro whispered, eyes never leaving Thomas'. He swallowed, and Thomas dropped his gaze slightly to follow the movement of his throat. He brought his eyes back to Miro's.

 

"A slight difference, yeah," Thomas mumbled. He wanted—needed—to kiss Miro, _now_. He really needed to. This was the perfect chance—there wasn't anyone here, and they were so close, and Miro wasn't even backing away—

 

So Thomas clears his throat, brings both of them back to reality—and he leans, until Miro's eyes are unbelievably close, and he leans closer, and he feels hot breath against his mouth, and—

 

"Father!"

 

Thomas suddenly jumps from Miro, startled from the sudden intrusion. He looked around him, but found no body to which the voice belonged to.

 

"Father, where are you?" A voice came again, this time slightly different. Thomas looked to Miro, who was also looking around for the voices—there seemed to be two. Suddenly, a pair of twin boys burst through the stalks of sunflowers, and they ran straight for Miro, laughing and screaming.

 

"Father!" One of them shouted, tightly clinging to Miro's side. Thomas felt a little sick in his stomach at the sight. So Miro _did_ have a Queen.

 

"Hmm, now, you two haven't been to the gardens in a while," Miro said to the boys gently.

 

"The guards told us you were here with a guest, so me and Luan ran here!" The other twin said, and they both turned around to smile excitedly at Thomas.

 

"Hi! I'm Luan! And this is Noah!" One of the twins said, and Thomas' heart melted a little.

 

They had Miro's eyes.

 

"Hi, I'm  Thomas," Thomas said, and smiled as the twin boys ran to him.

 

"Thomas? That's a weird name," Lukas said. "But I like it! Are you a friend of Father's? How come I never saw you before?"

 

"Maybe he's visiting! Hey, why do you guys have flowers? Flowers are for girls. Father, are you turning into a girl?"

 

Thomas watched fondly as Miro answered all their questions and patted their heads and told them to go back to their rooms and study, for it was getting late, and there was a big dinner later. He watched as the twins pouted and complained, but listened to their father anyway. As the twins left, he turned to Miro again, who was blushing slightly.

 

"They're...quite a handful," the King said sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

 

"I didn't know you had kids," Thomas said, frowning slightly.

 

"I do," Miro said, and his face turned sad. "I needed to continue the bloodline. It wasn't really any choice I had; I just had to provide an heir."

 

Thomas' gaze softened a little. "The Queen must be happy to have such handsome boys."

 

"The Queen," Miro said softly, and Thomas flinched at the sadness in the man's voice.

 

"Did...something happen?" Thomas asked quietly, fiddling with the rose in his hand.

 

"Her name was Sylwia," Miro said quietly. "She passed away after giving birth to Luan and Noah."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"No, it's alright, there's nothing to be sorry about. If anything, I should be sorry—I pulled her into the Kingdom life. She could've been happier living in town, away from all the gossip and secrets of the castle..." Miro trailed off, eyes distant.

 

"So she...wasn't from around here?"

 

"No, no. She fled here from another kingdom, along with other young boys. They're still living happily in town, but...she wanted to work in the castle, as a maid. She was pretty, everyone had their eyes on her...she was...different, and I guess I did, too. So I courted her, and a year later, she passed away."

 

"I'm sorry," Thomas said, placing a hand on Miro's shoulder.

 

"Thomas, if you say you're sorry again, I'll have Bastian feed you something that'll make your stomach upset," Miro said, soft smile gracing his features.

 

"Ah, so even His Majesty has a sense of humor, eh?" Thomas grinned cheekily.

 

"Occasionally," Miro said, smiling. Thomas stepped closer to Miro, and took one of the oriental lilies. He smiled mischievously and tucked the flower behind Miro's ear, giving him the appearance of a maiden.

 

"Maybe your boys are right," Thomas laughed. "You are turning into a girl."

 

"Hush," Miro said, voice without any trace of annoyance.

 

"I, uh, I should get going," Thomas said suddenly, feeling a little self-conscious of himself. "To prepare. For the duel, I mean. Yeah. That."

 

"Hm, yes, you should," Miro said, smiling, as if knowing that Thomas really didn't want to go. "I'll be looking forward to it."

 

"I'm pretty good, Miro, so prepare to be amazed," Thomas bragged jokingly. He turned away from Miro, choosing to face the fountain instead. "Although I'm sure your Knight will probably be difficult to duel with."

 

"Well, I'll just be looking forward for it," Miro said, and Thomas froze.

 

His voice was just next to Thomas' ear, and Thomas was afraid to move even an inch.

 

"Come, I'll accompany you to the armory," Miro said softly, and Thomas tried not to jump or flinch or _melt,_ because—

 

Thomas felt a pair of lips press softly against the side of his cheek, light, and quick, like the soft whirl of the wind.

 

 _And sweet, like the flowers I love,_ Thomas thought.

 

And this time, as they started walking, he took Miro's hand first.

 

*


End file.
